FIND of the Week: A Poem Written by my Teenage Self

I save everything. Like, EVERYTHING. I have boxes full of snapshots from my past; literally and figuratively. Old photos, movie stubs from 1993-1997, concert posters, letters to friends, letters from friends, cards from every birthday I've had, crumbling old flower corsages (yes, the kind we'd wear on our wrists for dances..do the kids even do that now a days?), invitations from parties that were thrown 20 years ago...yeah, you get the idea. Sometimes, when I'm in a particular cleaning frenzy, the one that takes hold of me twice a year, I think about throwing all this crap out. Why, oh why, do I have to be reminded that I watched Romeo and Juliet 900 times or that I once saw The Goo Goo Dolls in concert? But there are other moments, when I stumble upon one of my boxes by accident, and I happily reminisce of some cherished memory that I had long forgotten; one that had been hiding out in the back of my noggin for years, waiting for its shot to be remembered. It's in those moments that I'm SO HAPPY I didn't give in and toss all this stuff out years ago. Because all this "crap," is really just my past in physical form. And if the day ever comes when my memory gets a little hazy and I really do forget some of the scenery from the path behind me that has been my life, I hope I can look through all this "crap"...and remember. That just the physical touch of a concert stub in my wrinkled, old hand will bring the song Iris floating back into my head. And I'll remember; being young, carefree, with my whole life a wide-open field before me, a blank canvas waiting for paint...and I'll smile and think how lucky I've been to have had a life well-lived. Then I'll probably take out my teeth and go to bed at 7. So until then, I'll keep all this "crap" safely stowed in the depths of my closet. I do, however, think it's safe to throw out all these old movie tickets, as I'm pretty sure I'll still be dreaming of Leonardo DiCaprio....even when I'm 80. :)

Here's one of the memories I found today. A poem I wrote when I was 16. It's kind of silly and super sappy...my favorite kind of memory. 

Us

I sit here. And I write.
I write because I can't speak the words
my lips won't form them
But I guess it doesn't matter
because there's nothing left to say
And at the same time,
there's a million words I could speak 
but...
they would be directed at you.
Only you
won't listen. So...
I guess it doesn't matter
And I write.
I write about love.
What I thought was love, what I wished was love,
what I hoped was love.
But...
I guess it doesn't matter
because whatever it was...
is gone now.
Maybe it's been gone
but only now will my heart recognize it.
And I write.
About loss and hurt.
Two things
I have, am, and will experience.
And I write.
About hope. 
And I hope. But...
I guess it doesn't matter or...
Does it?
Do you care?
I wish I could answer that question,
my only question in the world.
If I had...
A chance
to speak into your eyes
I probably wouldn't know what to say.
Because, you know me, always at a loss for the perfect words.
You know me.
And I used to know you.
We used to sit in the sun and talk about life.
About you. About me. About us.
I have so many words, sentences, paragraphs.
All I can do...
is write.
And I write.
About forgiveness.
Will you ever feel it? But...
I guess it doesn't matter,
because I'm me and you're you and...
there is no us anymore.
But...I dream.
of sunshine and chats that lead us to nothing.
And walks that don't take us anywhere
except tunnels with invisible bats,
but we're together,
so it doesn't matter.
And I hope.
For silence, with smiles that say a million words the lips can't speak.
I hope for love.
Again.

That was me...then.